


A Difficult Problem

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 11:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14693061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Some problems can't be solved.





	A Difficult Problem

He’s distracted by the text scrolling up the tablet in his claws, and so actually jumps at the sound of Starscream stalking into his little niche of the med-bay. A niche is all it is; really little more than a side room, possibly intended for autopsy or extensive overhaul – the kind that involves turning scrap back into something useful. It’s very small, and with the berth taking up the majority of the central floor space, it’s cramped… but it is his own space, where no one tends to bother him and he can do his own work privately, and for that he’s thankful.

In his current condition, that privacy has been his biggest asset. That, combined with the fact that this tiny space possesses nearly all the tools of the main medical deck, has convinced him to take up at least temporary residence here.

Starscream’s entrance catches him off guard; he hadn’t expected to be disturbed and he’s had a lot on his mind since returning to the Nemesis. He especially wouldn’t ever expect a surprise visit from his Commander, since generally when Starscream wants him, he calls for him. Very rarely does the older seeker condescend to track Carrion down, and today he looks annoyed to have done so.

Glaring at him from the doorway, the larger jet is also radiating confusion and something that could almost (maybe) be concern through their bond, though his narrowed optics and grim expression betray none of this. “You’re avoiding me.”

Carrion doesn’t exactly know what to do with the accusation, although it strikes him as a little amusing. Gallows humor at it’s finest: Starscream, who so often complains that he’s around far too much, bitching that he hasn’t been hanging on him. Valiantly, he fights back the smile that threatens to bloom, knowing that it will be bitter at best. For once he wins.

“I am not _avoiding you_.” He says softly, keeping his tone light because he really doesn’t want to fight right now. “I knew you were busy, and I filed my report as soon as I got back – debriefed with Soundwave, as ordered, and you oughta be proud of the fact that I didn’t let him creep me out. Just gave him the brief and left.”

With a noncommittal noise, perhaps of approval, the larger ‘Con starts to move around the berth. Carrion feels a twist of apprehension at the other’s approach, flinching back slightly as if to keep distance between them. Starscream doesn’t seem to notice at first, busy talking. “You should have reported to me as well, the moment you got ba-”

Part of the younger mech expects the way his mate’s voice cuts out, expects the widening of his optics when he stares, but despite that he still feels ashamed and hurt in the strangest way. He keeps himself still, letting the other’s optics rove over his open plating, the wires and cords connecting him to the monitoring equipment… and they linger the longest on his right hand, which is missing two claws.

All those things had been masked by the berth before the larger mech moved, and Carrion had hoped – foolishly – to keep them hidden for at least a little while longer. There is some relief when, finally, his optics return to Carrion’s face, though they burn with suspicion and anger to mask the wrenching they both feel in their sparks. “What are you doing?”

There is nothing Carrion wouldn’t give to not have to explain, but he, of course, has no choice. “Just, ah… just some diagnostic stuff. And checking up on a few firewalls.”

“Why would that be important now,” the Air Commander hisses, still trying to sound annoyed and aloof despite how obvious it’s becoming that there is no point to it. “What did you _do_?”

Fetching a little sigh, Carrion finds that he can’t quite look at his mate to admit this. He knows, logically, that there is nothing he could have done to prevent what has happened… but nonetheless, he feels as if he’s betrayed the other mech by even ending up in this vulnerable position. “I picked up an… infection.”

“An infection.” It’s not a question, but there is curiosity mingling in the forced anger.

Even after being out for several cycles, the memory of the time he was forced to spend underground makes the younger jet shudder. Seekers were not meant to be confined, but he did as he was ordered. “That mine I was sent to scout, there were Autobots still there.” He glances at Starscream’s face and then away again, pretending to study the tablet in his hand. “Dead ones. They were all carrying Cybonic Plague.”

Silence stretches between them for a moment, uncomfortable as Carrion feels the weight of his words impress upon his bond-mate. Optics return to his wounded hand, to the claws that are severed all the way back to mid-palm, and the smaller seeker resumes talking. “The bodies were actually quarantined on another level than I was scouting but… the initial recon on the area didn’t show the structural damage and when I opened the door to the harvesting archives, the ceiling caved in.” He lifts his mangled claw and twitches the remaining digits, thankful for the block he’s put on his pain receptors.

“Virus spreads through energon, and plenty of that went flying when the bodies hit the floor in front of me. I uh… I tried to contain the infection by removing the contact points, but Cybonic Plague is particularly aggressive. I hardly had enough time to track my way back to the mine’s medical office and implement some rudimentary firewalls so I could get back here and put some decent ones in.”

The claw he’s holding in the air has begun to shake slightly, so he lowers it, feeling Starscream’s optics on him, searching his frame for the other places he’s cut away armor, or looking for the tell-tale scorch marks that would denote anywhere Carrion had missed.

“Are you a medic or aren’t you?” The older mech asks after a long silence. It puts a knot in Carrion’s spark because he can feel pain pushing at him through their bond, and he can’t remember that ever being the case before. “It’s a virus. Fix it.”

His optics return to his mate’s face, which is stern and authoritative, giving away none of his feelings. If not for the bond, Carrion would think his Commander annoyed at most by the situation. Because of it, however, he can feel more than aggravation – and he’s not sure whether to be amused or irritated himself that Starscream is actually at least partially genuinely annoyed. There is pain and, yes, honest concern, and that does something to both hurt and soothe him.

“Commander… Starscream… look,” he says softly, shifting slightly in place. Again the words feel heavy, weighty with the realization that he’s only ever used the older jet’s given name when the other was dead. “I’ve got firewalls and antivirals in place, and I’ve incorporated a filtration system through my energon pumps. As of this moment, they’re all working.”

“So _keep_ them working.”

Something about that bullheaded command – as if either of them can believe that a simple firewall is going to protect him – finally makes him smile. As predicted, the expression feels uncharacteristically bitter, but he can’t help it. He continues speaking as if uninterrupted, his tone flat and clinical. “ _Realistically_ , Cybonic Plague is incredibly aggressive, and it’s only a matter of time before it breaks through my system defenses… unless, of course, I manage to decode the virus and can write a cure-code.”

“Then I repeat: are you a medic or not? Do your slagging job and have done with this.” For the first time in a long time, Carrion honestly wishes Starscream would just leave and let him be alone for a while. The exchange of emotion doesn’t change with proximity, but somehow having him glaring at him from only a few dozen feet away is excruciating.

All the guilt he’s been trying to fight down swells again, and he can’t help turning his head away, staring toward the medical equipment. He feels weak and already defeated, despite having managed a feat few ever have – containing the plague long enough to even start decoding it is an accomplishment, even if it came at the cost of two fingers.

It feels foolish to be stung by the repeated jibe, but he adds that to the ever-growing list of little stupidities he’s indulged in. Now is not the time to defend his autonomy or debate his validity as a soldier. Honestly, it’s not really the time to be debating his skills as a medic, either. So he says, trying to sound clinical still, as if this is happening to someone else, “I’m doing the best I can. But… you know Megatron designed the virus himself. I believe Shockwave may have assisted in the implementation, but the _design_ … well, it’s really twisted. Confusing. I’m having trouble even picking a place to start.”

A little jolt snaps through him at the sudden sensation of claws on his face – it’s always a shock to feel Starscream being gentle, but Carrion had rather expected that, with the news of his infection, no one would want to touch him. And despite the fact that he knows the virus can only spread through energon contact, he feels a stab of fear for his mate when those claws lightly brush his face, drawing his gaze to meet Starscream’s.

“Just pick a place,” the older mech commands. “Do _something_.”

It’s strange, how he can make his tone both accusatory – implying that Carrion hasn’t been trying at all thus far – and calm, nearly kind. The smaller ‘Con feels another twist in his spark at the words, one that redoubles when Starscream’s claws slip from his face to his neck, thumb stroking absently.

In a way, he understands the logic and appreciates the gesture. He’s always sought comfort in physical contact, and in this way Starscream can offer solace without seeming to. For a moment he gives in to the need for contact, leaning closer, letting their helms rest together.

But after a few kliks, he pushes away, stepping back from the claws that were starting to wander toward his open chest. “Stop. Just… just stop.” He mutters, shaking his head and snatching the tablet back up off the counter.

He is less than surprised when Starscream reaches out and grabs his wrist, yanking him back, but he can’t quite suppress a little hiss anyway. “What if I don’t want to stop?” The larger ‘Con growls, his expression twisted with anger and something Carrion hasn’t seen before. He searches their connection and it breaks something in him to realize that this is what his Commander looks like in a panic. “Have I _ever_ drawn energon touching you? Do you think you’re a _risk_ to me?”

“Of course I am,” the younger seeker says softly, trying to soothe. “And I’m not willing to _risk_ infecting you. I know you’d never… you’d never hurt me enough that my energon would be a hazard to you. But I don’t know when the virus is going to get the better of me, Starscream. And I don’t know what would happen if you were in contact with my spark when it hits. Because it’s going to. We have to acknowledge that – it will bypass every precaution I’ve installed, and it will flood either my CPU or my spark. Maybe both. And I’ll die.”

They’re both standing perfectly still, optics locked as the air between them becomes increasingly tense. “Shut up!” the Air Commander rasps, shaking the smaller seeker hard enough to make him dizzy. “Don’t _ever_ speak like that to me.”

A pause, giving Carrion enough time to wonder if it’s the use of Starscream’s name that’s so infuriated him or the honest admonition of his coming demise.

“You are not going to let this kill you,” the larger ‘Con says flatly, his expression and tone finally leveling into something that’s more normal, though he keeps his hold on the younger jet’s wrist. The parting of that strange panic helps ease Carrion’s nerves. “I won’t… I will not tolerate you just _accepting_ death because the alternative is to solve a _difficult problem_.”

Staring up at his Commander, Carrion realizes finally what the other mech must be afraid of. It’s almost enough to bring back his smile, and he almost says something. They’re both aware of how agonizing a severed bond is supposed to be, and Carrion, of course, knows the pain first hand. He wants to say something clever, or comforting; to tell Starscream that he knows how bad it will hurt, and that if _he_ can survive the pain and the sudden loneliness of singularity, then of course the Air Commander can too.

Instead, he lets his hand drop when it’s released, and nods slightly at the other’s words. All he says in return is, “I’ll do my best.”

His best being, and they must both know it by now, never good enough.


End file.
